I'll be home for Christmas 1  Actor
by Kaglen
Summary: A short Christmas story, first of five.


Actor had the room to himself although an empty glass on the mahogany table next to the chair gave testament to someone else's presence before he had arrived. He moved the glass aside, automatically wafting it under his nose as he did, the bouquet, that of port. He put a crystal brandy goblet in its place and poured a generous measure of fine cognac from a silver pocket-flask, watching the rich copper coloured liquid flow into the heavily faceted bowl as he did. His guess was that Goniff had been the last occupant of the chair, taking the opportunity to have some time alone. Casino and Chief had gone for a walk separately leaving the comfort of mansion they all called 'home' albeit temporary. Each of the four men who worked and lived together so closely needed solitude, maybe even more so, on Christmas Day.

The handsome Italian took his seat, he would have preferred to spend his time in the library but it was too cold. The additional fuel restrictions affected everyone; even those living on estates with ample supply of logs, so the number of fires in the manor house had been restricted. Supplies in the shops were scarce and the low morale amongst the Allied Forces and civilians had plummeted even lower with the news of the German counter offensive in the Ardennes. Christmas 1944; the war should have been over but the killing went on.

It was difficult to erase the memories of the mission to bring Lieutenant Garrison back to safety. Caught up in the battle that still raged in Belgium, the five men had taken refuge in a ravine with some American soldiers, then a shell dropped nearby; the blast had thrown Garrison against the rocks like a rag doll. Once Actor had recovered himself he went to help the officer who lay unmoving and covered in blood, he had checked the younger man for injuries but found none. It was only then that he realised one of the GI's had taken the force of the explosion and it was his blood and gore that covered the Lieutenant. Garrison was, however, deeply unconscious and the latest report from the hospital was that he remained so.

Why the four convicts had not been sent back to prison once Garrison had been declared missing was still a puzzle. Maybe the 'brass' had known something all along or maybe they had simply been forgotten but Actor chose not to dwell on the issue; he had other matters to consider. He put out his hand in order to pick up his cognac, more than ready to enjoy the indulgence, but then felt something hard wedged between the cushion and the arm of the leather chair, he reached down and pulled out a book. A smile flickered across his face as he read the spine 'A Christmas Carol' by Charles Dickens; a cliché and proof, if needed, of Goniff's presence before him. He placed the book on the table, the little thief's predictability irritated him, but maybe he was being too harsh, the author was, after all, part of the Englishman's heritage.

He picked up the crystal goblet, cupping it in his hand to warm the brandy before taking a sip and savouring the pleasure. His mind wandered to Dickens's tale of Scrooge, a man who was alone in the world, a man who needed stark reminders of humanity and generosity, reminders that came in the form of ghostly spirits. Actor was also alone in the world but there were no other similarities to Scrooge and he needed no apparitions to guide him back over his life.

Born the son of a minor Italian aristocrat Actor had been brought up in a beautiful home, filled with fine furnishings, paintings and family treasures but with very little monetary wealth. He had learnt his lifelong appreciation of the arts, his charm and his elegance from his mother; a beautiful woman both in body and in spirit, she had died when he was only fourteen. His father never really recovered from the loss of his wife and followed her to the grave only two years later but not before he had taught his son more of life's lessons; gentlemanly behaviour, knowledge of languages and how to treat ladies with courtesy and consideration.

Actor had known from an early age that there would be very little left to inherit, as the years passed family possessions had been sold in order to survive in the turbulent state that was Italy after The Great War. The reading of the will confirmed what the young man already knew, the villa had to be sold, however, he was fortunate in that many family friends were kind enough to ask him to stay as a houseguest and thereby gave him a home. Intelligent and intuitive beyond his sixteen years Actor knew he could not rely on the kindness of friends indefinitely and soon learnt just how long to stay before moving on, leaving each of his hosts charmed and always ready to offer a further invitation at a later date.

The young man led a comfortable life, but he knew that was due to the generosity of others and it was wealth that allowed people to be generous. He was also well aware of what could have happened had he not been so lucky, he had seen poverty and squalor, and vowed that he would never allow himself to become victim to that. He had no profession or trade and knew that if he wanted to maintain his much loved way of life, he would have to bend the rules. What began with charm, eloquence and flattery soon evolved into manipulation and ultimately the confidence game. A game at which Actor became an undoubted Grand Master, taking on whatever role was needed to provide him with the luxury and comfort he desired.

He travelled around Italy and Europe in the 1930's living well and depositing money in various bank accounts. Handsome and debonair he partnered many beautiful women but he did not want to commit himself to one woman and would love and leave his lady-friends with such grace they never held a grudge. As years passed the rumblings of another war in Europe grew louder and began to threaten his way of life but Actor had always kept his options open. America was waiting; virgin territory, a challenge and one he could not resist. He worked The United States as he had Europe and at first all went well; he made money, met more beautiful women and enjoyed life. Then, as Casino said, he found a judge he couldn't con and ended up in prison. Despite the warmth of the fire and his snifter of brandy Actor shuddered, prison was vile; it offended and insulted him in everyway. When Garrison offered him the opportunity to work for parole he had taken it as a drowning man would grab at a life preserver. Nobody knew how desperate he had been to get out of prison he had lived through the ordeal with apparent dignity and forbearance but that was the art of a con man.

Actor had spent Christmas in many countries taken part in a variety of customs and traditions from secular and jolly to the spiritual and more reverent. In a moment the handsome man was transported back to his father's villa. It was Christmas Eve and he could see himself as a young boy, immaculately dressed, as were his parents, ready to go to Midnight Mass. Soft candlelight played on the family Crib, the centre piece of Italian homes. There would be another more magnificent Crib in the church when they got there, his mother held out her hand for him to take, her smile gentle, her eyes kind. The image faded and the man's thoughts turned to Christmas here in Great Britain, his second but the sixth Christmas of the war for many.

Casino, Chief and Goniff were not men he would have chosen to work with but he had to admit that they had become a good team under Garrison's leadership. His sipped his brandy and gave a rueful smile; he had thought Goniff's choice of book was a cliché but hadn't he just reviewed his own life, just as Scrooge had done but what of the Spirit of Christmas yet to come, just like Scrooge it was in his own hands.

He was the oldest member of the team and had to consider a time 'after the war' if he survived. The others would go home, wherever home was, he had no roots and needed none. He would have access to money and female companions he could call upon once the war was over, but what would he do? There had to be a way to use his talents legitimately. He was intelligent, well read and gifted in languages. There would be many refugees and displaced persons throughout Europe when the war did finish and with a reference from Garrison and the Army he might be allowed to utilise his skills to help rebuild shattered lives in some way.

Pushing his thoughts aside for a moment he realised how dark the room had become, the firelight was pleasant but he would soon need more light. He left the comfort of his chair and moved to the window, the evening star was low in the sky and a haze of frost was gathering in the corners of the windows. Somewhere a wireless was playing a carol, 'Hark the herald angels sing, glory to the new born King' the words written by another Englishman, Charles Wesley. He listened for a moment then pulled the heavy drapes across the window before switching on a lamp on a nearby table. Moving back across the room he considered the next line of the carol 'Peace on Earth and mercy mild, God and sinners reconciled.' Suddenly a movement caught his eye; it was his own reflection in a mirror. He paused, he had sinned and was now reconciled, he smiled at his own thoughts, studied himself for a moment longer then raised his glass in a toast to himself. Buon Natale,


End file.
